


Sthenolagnia (Strength/Muscles)

by cozywilde



Series: Kinktober [2]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Sparring, dragons in humanoid form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozywilde/pseuds/cozywilde
Summary: Shran challenges T'Bren to a sparring match. She knows he's after more than a fight.





	Sthenolagnia (Strength/Muscles)

**Author's Note:**

> [Guard-Captain T'Bren](https://toyhou.se/3352876.t-bren)  
> [Shran](https://toyhou.se/3360890.shran), the local trash man  
> and (briefly) [Vaikarik](https://toyhou.se/3281957.vaikarik), a young guard

“Good work today. Dismissed.” T’Bren nods to her guards, sheathing her sword as she turns to go. She pauses for a heartbeat when she sees the figure waiting at the edge of the public training grounds, then walks over, neither rushing nor dawdling. 

“Guard-captain,” Shran says, and somehow the curve of his lip makes a mockery of the title at the same time that his tone bleeds just the faintest edge of envy. “These kids tire you out too much, or could you go another round?”

“Shran,” T’Bren says, her tone all the warning she needs. Vaikarik, walking out of the training grounds, scowls and takes a step back towards them. One firm shake of T’Bren’s head is enough to deflate him, and he turns to go once again, feathers drooping. Once he’s a little ways away, T’Bren turns her attention back to Shran. There’s a familiar glint in his eyes, challenging and bright. She knows at once that the public training grounds will not do. 

“Meet me at my house. Twenty minutes.” T’Bren doesn’t wait for a response before she sets off. 

\---

The familiar routine of exchanging training armor for lighter clothing, cleaning her sword, and putting everything back in its place takes just as long as it always does, but she finds herself… almost eager for the work to be done. Shran is not wrong - training her guards doesn’t come close to testing her own skill, not yet. She needs someone else to do that. 

She goes to the door once the twenty minutes have passed, finding Shran leaning against the frame. He knows better than to knock before she’s ready. “This way,” she says, even though he knows it, because at least one of them should show some manners and she couldn’t forgive herself if it ended up being Shran. She hasn’t bothered lighting any lanterns along the way. Neither of them need it.

There’s no need for light once they enter her house’s inner courtyard, either. The moon shines down on the open space, casting it in silvery light that gleams against Shran’s pale eyes, and no doubt from hers as well. Wordless, they walk to the center and face each other. 

Falling into a ready stance is as easy as breathing, and Shran does the same across from her. Their eyes lock, ready, waiting. 

Shran makes the first move. His fist swings out, but T’Bren catches it, forcing him back and landing a punch to his stomach. He takes it, then swings again. She has to duck or be hit, and ducking leaves her open to another hit.

Neither of them needs to play around with blows that test the other’s speed, their strength, how quickly they react. She knows his weak spots as well as he does hers. Only the quickest of thinking can allow a victory. 

T’Bren finds the first opening, her leg sweeping out to knock his out from beneath him. Shran goes down, and even his skillful roll to ride out the impact doesn’t protect him from her bearing down on him, wrestling an arm behind his back and driving his face into the dirt. She steadies her grip, then bears down when he struggles. 

“You will have to try harder than that, Shran,” she says. He jerks against her hold, but she grits her teeth and sustains it. There’s a long moment of strain as he attempts to force it, but then he subsides.

She draws back and springs up to her feet, already falling into a ready stance as he growls and surges to his feet, wheeling around to face her once more. The glint in his eyes burns colder and brighter now, and T’Bren catches the edge of her own lip curling up. Now  _ this  _ will be a good fight. 

It’s brutal, is what it is. Far from exchanging neat blows and parries, the hits that land stagger their targets. T’Bren’s kick lands just short of cracking ribs. Shran’s answering punch could have broken her jaw. Only their honed sense of the other’s movements lets them avoid the brunt of the blows, and even then both are panting and sweat-sheened a few minutes later. 

T’Bren stands still and ready while Shran paces around her. The intimidating, ranging lope he’s trying for stutters just slightly, and T’Bren’s eyes drop to track his gait - the slightest limp from his right leg. Perhaps that kick landed harder than she thought. As her eyes slide back up, they catch on another tell, one that makes her own breath come quicker. 

He isn’t expecting her charge, and she carries him to the ground easily, though she can’t get him in as good a hold as before. Still, it’s enough to thrust her thigh between his, riding up against the hard length of him, hotter even than the rest of his body. Gratifyingly, he grunts and goes still for the moment it takes her to get a better grip. 

“Perhaps if you were less distracted, you might be able to best me,” T’Bren comments. Shran opens his mouth to speak, but another rock of her thigh has him biting his lip instead, his pale skin flushing darker. With a growl, he attempts to roll her, but she holds firm. “You always did struggle with discipline.” 

Shran snarls. T’Bren raises an eyebrow, but misses the subtle shift in his expression until he changes tactics, pushing his own thigh up against her. T’Bren’s breath catches, and he smirks. “Sure your  _ discipline  _ isn’t slipping a bit too, guard-captain?”

This time he manages to roll her, and then they’re wrestling, each of them scrambling to find a hold. With both of them on the ground, Shran loses the advantage of his height and reach, but T’Bren loses her nimbler footwork. She wrestles him down, he surges up again; he pins her, but with a grunt of effort she forces him back. 

They roll again, and the momentum carries them until Shran comes up on top. Dropping an arm across her sternum, he forces her down, then shoves his leg between hers again, smirking at the wet heat he can feel even through their pants. He presses up, rubbing his thigh against her, and she gasps, eyes fluttering closed. 

And then, in a burst of motion, she grunts and flips him over her head. He lands heavily on his back, sending up a cloud of dust that he coughs on as he fights to get back the breath that’s been knocked out of him. While he’s still dazed, T’Bren rolls deftly to her feet and rushes to pin him, straddling his thighs and pressing his arms down into the dirt above his head.

“You seem to have something other than fighting in mind, Shran.” T’Bren’s voice is low and rough, matching the strain in her muscles as she holds Shran in place. “Do you want to continue fighting me, or will you yield?” 

He tries the same move she had, but he just doesn’t have the leverage, even as he pits the full force of his muscles against hers. T’Bren smiles tightly, and presses down on his wrists until he grunts in pain. “Do you  _ yield?” _ His eyes flash, but his breath shudders out of him, hips twitching up involuntarily. 

“I yield.” 

T’Bren slams her mouth to his in a rough kiss, both of them groaning at the release. She shifts up, straddling Shran’s hips instead now and grinding down into the hot pressure of his erection. Biting at her lips, Shran makes to roll her off again, but even now she holds firm. “You yielded, now  _ yield, _ ” she mutters, and slams him back to the ground. She leaves one hand in place but drops the other to the front of his pants, tugging impatiently at the laces. 

Shran grunts as she grips his dick, hips rocking up as much as they’re able - which isn’t much. After a few quick strokes that spread the precome already dripping steadily from the head, she gives a warning squeeze. “Stay down.” Releasing him, she stands and jerks down her pants, stepping out of each leg without moving from her stance above his hips. 

“Nice view,” Shran says, smirking as he pillows an arm above his head, the hard glint in her eyes far from a deterrent as he watches her. 

Carelessly tossing her pants aside, T’Bren drops down to her knees again, breathing deep and deliberately slow as she grinds against him with nothing between them. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Shran says, his voice almost a growl. His fingers dig into the dirt at his side, clearly unsure whether he’s allowed to touch. T’Bren doesn’t dignify it with a response either way, just raising herself up slightly, reaching beneath to take Shran’s dick in hand, and slowly starting to sink down on him. 

Shran groans as he’s surrounded by tight, wet heat, body wracked with tremors as he fights to hold still. T’Bren will not be happy if he moves before she’s ready. Sweat beading on her face, she bites her lip as she takes him deeper. She has to brace herself on Shran’s chest, nails digging into his shirt. He growls at the little bite of pain, and she sinks down to the base of him with a gasp. 

For a moment they’re still, icy white eyes locked in yet another struggle - who will break first? 

It’s Shran. With a sharp groan he rocks his hips up, only managing the slightest movement before T’Bren shoves him back down - but it’s enough. She rises up on her knees, hissing as he starts to slip from her, then drives back down. Quickly, she works up to a rapid pace, gasping sharply with each roll of her hips.

Helplessly, Shran grabs at her thighs, the loose dirt no longer enough to steady him. Thick muscles clench and release beneath his fingers, steady and strong despite the harsh workout they’re getting, and Shran groans, heat tightening in his belly. “T’Bren,  _ fuck,  _ T’Bren…”

“Yes?” She bites out the word between harsh gasps for breath, not ceasing the rock of her hips for a moment. 

“Gods, I - T’Bren -  _ fuck -  _ I’m gonna -“

Her eyes flash. “No. You won’t.” She slows her pace for a moment, grabbing Shran’s hands - one she draws up, over her breast; the other, between her legs. “Not until I do.”  _ Not like  _ last  _ time,  _ is the unspoken subtext, and her tone leaves no room for debate.

The shudder that wracks Shran’s body almost makes her think she’d made matters worse for herself, but a moment later Shran’s fingers tighten over her breast, massaging firmly. Then his other hand strokes between her legs and she gives a cry, rocking hard against him again. 

“Oh, oh,  _ yes,”  _ she gasps. Grinding down, she clenches around him, shuddering with her climax. Her arms finally give out, nearly falling atop Shran’s chest, but he immediately takes the opportunity to roll them, his messy hair cascading around their faces as he thrusts quick and hard. T’Bren’s eyes fall shut and she moans with each rock of his hips, thighs tightening around him until he can hardly move, nails scratching down the length of his back.

“Fuck, fuck,  _ T’Bren,”  _ he finally groans, burying his head in her neck as he shudders and comes, spilling wet heat that T’Bren shivers at feeling. For long moments the tight clench of her body around him sends delightful sparks over his nerves, but soon it’s too much. However…

“T’Bren. Shit, you gotta -“ Shran tries to pull back, but is just as powerless to escape her grip as before. 

“Oh. Oh!” T’Bren releases him, breathing picking up as he carefully pulls out. Groaning, she stretches where she lies before she rolls to her feet. A little stiff, and she’d certainly feel it tomorrow, but nothing too bad. 

She watches Shran as he gets up and puts himself back in order too, well familiar with his tendency to hide injuries. Other than that slight limp, he seems fine. 

“Well, uh… good fight,” Shran says gruffly. “Even if you - well.” 

“Even if I won, you mean.” 

Shran grunts. “Sure.” 

T’Bren suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. “Good night, Shran.” She crosses her arms and waits, for what she’s not sure. But Shran just nods, mumbles a “g’night,” and is gone. 


End file.
